


Show a little faith (there's magic in the night)

by Trojie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Schmoop, Sex in the Impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're parked up on a back road. They've got all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show a little faith (there's magic in the night)

**Author's Note:**

> Just some pure, oldfashioned PWP. Title from Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen. Happy New Year, everyone <3

Dean doesn't need to be able to see to do this. This is a kind of talking he learned on a hundred different bodies, in a thousand different darknesses, and he's fluent. This is his language, and fuck if he doesn't wanna use it to write poems all over his brother's skin. 

Underneath him, Sam's got one long, long leg over the back of the seat, against the glass of the rear window, and the other hanging in the footwell. It's the only way to make space for Dean. Their jeans went the way of all evil a while ago, too hot in here even to sleep, and they ain't sleeping. Not tonight. Tonight they're living, breathing each other in. Tonight they're alive, despite angels and demons and Darkness, and this is how they prove it. 

They don't need light to read each other. 

Sam's hard against Dean's belly, Dean's just as up for it, rutting into the cut of muscle between Sam's thigh and groin. But it's a slow rut, a rocking rhythm, and that's just how they like it. Dean stretches up to push Sam's sweat-strung hair off his neck and kiss him there, where his pulse flutters and there's sinew like steel cord. Sam tastes so good, always has, and Dean drags lips and teeth and tongue there just to feel Sam rumble under him and grab at his hips. 

Tonight Sam's shaky, all worked up and no place to go, he's never been good at blowing his adrenaline the way Dean is, no, baby brother gets all pent up and doesn't know where to put it. S'okay, though - Dean'll take care of him. Dean knows how to scratch all their itches. 

Lube's in the ashtray; they keep it there guarded by toy soldiers for nights like this, and they're gonna need a lot of it tonight. Dean slicks his fingers and sucks on one of Sam's hard nipples through his shirt just to feel him jolt, and starts to open himself up for Sammy's dick. He knows Sam's panting for it, pent up, wants to fuck, and Dean wants to fuck too, and he's gonna, gonna get down and dirty and make Sam come all over that nasty-ass plaid shirt, but that's for later. First, he's gonna ride Sam like the best fuckin' pony at the show, get him all smoothed out, get that first round outta him before he blows his top. 

Sam knows what he's doing, and curls up on himself to help. Dean shuffles up on his knees, pulls Sam's legs back onto the seat so he can get on top properly, spread himself as much as he can, and his fingers come out and Sam's, oh, yeah, fuck yeah, Sam's go in. Dean sprawls forward and kisses Sam, hard, bites at his lower lip and feels him smile with the sting of it, and fuck his fingers in deeper. 

Little Sammy grew up big, but God, does he know how to use it. Dean's bones are starting to feel weak, warmed-over, ready to get pounded. Sam always knows how to get Dean to melt, but that's not the plan right now. He pulls free of Sam's mouth, pulls free of his hands, and reaches back with his own still lube-wet fingers to grab Sam's cock. 

The noises Sam makes when Dean takes him in are electric. He groans so deep in his chest that Dean would swear it makes the whole fucking chassis rumble like Magic Fingers under him as he bottoms out. And he clutches at Dean's hips with hard fingers, rough skin rubbing Dean raw. Dean takes him to the root, takes him deep, to the point he can't take any more, that there isn't any more to take, and then takes the strain back up, rides Sam slow and steady and quiet. 

He leans down to kiss Sam's mouth, soft for once. It won't take long to wring the first one out of his brother. Dean knows how to get it done. He works himself up and down, and Sam shudders and shakes under him, gets his feet wedged against the door and thrusts up, throws Dean's rhythm for just long enough to get his own going, faster, harder, and he grins against Dean's mouth. Cocky son of a bitch. Dean pushes himself up 'til he can sit, and prises Sam's hands off him, pulls them up until he can hold Sam down by his wrists. 

Being pinned drives Sam fuckin' nuts, he loves it and hates it all at the same time, and there's no space in here for him to really wrestle Dean for control unless one of them wants to end up in the ED with an embarrassing story. Dean gets to hold him down, though, sure, but Sam's still got his hips going like a piston, fucking Dean good and hard, and Dean needs him to come fast or this is gonna be all over too soon. 

Sam knows what he wants, though, and maybe they squabble over who's drivin' but they're on the same page about both getting both ends of the deal. Dean clenches, catches Sam's mouth again in a brutal kiss that's more than half teeth, and he lets go of Sam's wrists to sink his fingers in Sam's hair instead, and tugs. 

Yahtzee. 

Sam comes with a gasp, twisting half up and scrabbling at Dean's body for purchase like he's gonna slip away somehow. Dean rides it out, loving the feel of Sam pulsing inside him, the wet slop of it as he pulls off. Sam's still twitching, still making tiny noises, when Dean goes for what's left of the lube and pushes Sam's legs apart again, desperate to be inside him. 

It doesn't take that long. Sam's lax, loose, relaxed after coming, and he's never had trouble letting Dean in, either - his muscle control is good, and he likes it, likes taking it. He's a fucking puddle on the backseat and Dean works him over til he's so ready he's panting for it. 

Dean's been so hard, so ready to come, for so long that it's almost all over on the first thrust. But no, he's not ready to let go yet, and Sam's a slick dark shadow under him, all hot and bothered again, and he wants to make Sam cream himself just for the satisfaction of doing it. Dean's not a jealous man, but he always wants to give Sam a reason to think twice before going home with anyone else, to make sure he knows he could get it twice as good here in the backseat.

The first push into Sam's body is always like coming home. It's a cliche but Dean's never found anything better to describe it, the way it feels when Sam opens up for him like this. He has to pause a second when he's bottomed out, his forehead resting on the damp, half-unbuttoned flannel shirt that's somehow still covering Sam's chest, and breathe. 

Sam's fingers card through his hair. He gets it. He knows how that feels. 

Dean pulls himself together and pulls himself back up, sliding his hands down to brace himself on the seat. He brushes over Sam's cock again on the way back down and, oh yeah, he's halfway to hard again already. Dean wraps his hand loosely around it, almost cradling it, and Sam swears the air blue. Oversensitive. Dean smiles secretly in the dark to himself and lets it go again, starts to thrust carefully into Sam instead, but leaves his palm on Sam's belly, close. 

He knows he's found the right angle when Sam's dick twitches hard enough to brush against his thumb. From there it's a race, to get Sam to the finish line before Dean makes it himself, God, he's so close, he's so ready for this. Sam's thrashing under him, and Dean starts to jerk him off, firm and steady. Sam whines, thighs clenching around Dean's waist, shuddering, and when he comes again it's with a high-pitched exhale, a noise suppressed. Dean pounds into him once, twice more, and then he's coming too, it's rolling over him in waves, making him lightheaded, fucked stupid and sated and happy about it. He kisses Sam sloppily, and tastes blood from a bitten lip. 

Somewhere outside the Impala, there's a sudden whistle and a burst of light, and another, and another. 

Fireworks. 

'Happy New Year, jerk,' Sam murmurs underneath him.


End file.
